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He was the first man who had ever bought her jewellery. Not unexpectedly her mind shot to the little engagement ring she had secreted away in her suitcase. She had bought it in preparation for Bernard’s proposal from an estate jewellers near her office, on her own.
She’d forgotten it in all the excitement.
Unease formed a stagnant pool in her stomach. She didn’t want to think about the woman who had made that purchase, the woman who had seen nothing wrong in shelling out for their holiday and the ring, as if by paying for everything she could control what happened.
‘You are really very sweet,’ he said, putting his arm around her.
Ava disliked public displays of affection. She disliked anything that drew attention to her, so someone could say, Look at her—what’s wrong with her? but her judgement seemed out of place at this moment, with this man...and Italy seemed to be full of canoodling couples. In fact love seemed to be a part of the public display along with dressing up and that charming custom passeggiata—walking every evening through the town simply to be seen.
‘So are you,’ she said, resting her head against his shoulder.
‘I am sweet, tesoro?’ He sounded amused.
‘Yes, you always have been. I remember—’ She broke off, aware she had broken her own rule not to speak about seven years ago.
But it was too late. He bent his head close to hers. ‘You remember...?’
‘When you were twenty-three. When we first met.’ She touched his chest with her hand. ‘You were so gentle, kind and sensitive, and yet strong. I felt safe with you.’
‘Tesoro,’ he said, capturing her hand in his and bringing it to his lips, ‘you must never tell an Italian man he is sensitive. It just won’t do.’
‘I think you were—are.’ She could feel that heavy weight of seven years lifting off her chest.
‘If it pleases you to think so, then I’m glad,’ he said neutrally.
But she sensed his resistance. He was more than simply uncomfortable with the description.
Cautiously Ava reached up and touched his jaw, running her fingertips lightly over the incipient stubble.
‘It is a nuisance,’ he said in a low voice, capturing her hand. ‘I need to shave twice a day. Even then I will probably mark your soft skin.’
‘No,’ Ava said with feeling. ‘I like it. I—’ She broke off.
A wave of embarrassment swept through her and she didn’t know what to say. She was standing in the middle of a busy street, on the other side of the world from where she had always lived, in the arms of this amazing man, saying out loud all sorts of things she would usually only whisper to her pillow, and he was listening to her and looking at her with those eyes as if...as if...
‘What else do you like?’ he prompted.
‘I like you,’ she said, wondering what on earth had got into her.
‘Si, this did occur to me,’ he said as he angled her towards the car, ‘but I didn’t like to push my luck.’
* * *
They drove the winding coastal road out of Positano. They drank limoncello and ate clams for lunch on a terraced restaurant looking out over the bay at Amalfi. They walked through the town and in the early evening strolled with half the inhabitants along the waterfront.
Gianluca had found he wanted to know everything about her.
Where she’d gone to school. Too many to count.
What was her first job? Sweeping up hair clippings in a hair salon.
Her favourite colour? Blue. Her favourite song? Anything with Billie Holliday singing it.
She’d laughed then and asked some questions of her own.
Where had he gone to school? A military academy, aged eight.
Maybe the Twenty Questions wasn’t such a hot idea, he realised now, as the smile was wiped off Ava’s face.
‘Eight?’ she repeated.
‘It is how it is done in my family, cara. All Benedetti males have attended the same military academy for five generations.’
‘Is done?’
‘Was done. As I don’t intend to have children the question for me is moot. But my sisters have not followed the custom with their male children.’
‘No?’ Her voice sounded a little hollow.
Gianluca recognised stony ground when he stood on it. Was she referring to his sisters or his comment about himself?
‘You have sisters?’
Si, definitely about him.
‘Two—four nephews, two nieces.’ He tried not to look uncomfortable by tugging on the neck of his shirt.
‘You don’t like children?’
‘Sure. I love kids.’
Ava regarded him with those sea-green eyes and he braced himself for the feeling of annoyance and sheer frustration a woman badgering him on this topic always aroused.
